


tomorrow, the sun will be born

by rexflame



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: (its only glossed over but hedwyn is a trans guy), Family Fluff, Other, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 11:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12298410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexflame/pseuds/rexflame
Summary: sit for a spell, and let the stars fill you full again, let the cool air renew your faith, and hope will come for you soon.





	tomorrow, the sun will be born

**Author's Note:**

> i just finished pyre today and supergiant games never disappoint! i'm very tired right now so i apologize for any major errors  
> talk to me about it on twitter @wailingblue if you want

It is dark out when Hedwyn moves to clamber out of the blackwagon - the wood creaks despite gentle footsteps and soft strides, but Rukey does not stir, and Jodariel, well, ‘tis always hard to tell if she’s ever truly asleep. She shifts and stirs, hooves kicking out, and Rukey curls up against her side, donating his warmth oh-so generously. 

 

Hedwyn smiles at them, pulls up the blanket they’re sharing, and slips out the back.

 

The air feels cold against his skin, a soft breeze that feels like it belongs to a home, not a wasteland - not to depravity. He cranes his neck to stare at the stars, still half-perched on the wagon, his breath stuttering as the colors in the sky blend and burn and spin above him. There is the illusion of dizziness, and there is the illusion of glory - the illusion that he can become someone greater.

 

He tilts his head. The night does not tell him yes or no.

 

He laughs at the air, watching his breath form little clouds, like smoke, and he hugs his cape closer to him and closes his eyes and  _ breathes.  _ Just breathing is rare here, on the Downside, and thank all the stars above and each and every Scribe that he is still here to do it.

 

The wagon creaks.

 

There is the soft thud of hooves, and then Jodariel settles in beside him, one leg hugged up to her chest, loose strands from her braid billowing around her face - Hedwyn thinks she looks the part of someone holy, golden-flax halo. Her darkened eyes and gravelly voice crack the illusion, the tilt of her horns, and when her gaze pierces through him, burning bright like hot coals, it grounds him nonetheless.

 

“You’re up late.”

 

“Perhaps,” is his reply, a smile dancing on his lips as he lets his legs swing back and forth.

 

“The stars are up, and we keep moving tomorrow.”

 

Hedwyn gives her a single-shoulder shrug, not of dismissal, but of acknowledgement. At this moment, he is far too awake - he is awake in soul, ignited, like a flame, a funeral pyre. Go out in a flash. 

 

“Something is going to happen,” Hedwyn speaks suddenly, the words rolling from his lips like a waterfall.

 

“Something is going to change, Jodi. I can feel it - I’m sure it’s written, up there.” 

He swirls his finger above, pointing to the stars, and Jodariel closes her eyes. She sits like that for a moment, pensive and silent, and then turns to him.

 

“Don’t let hope blind you,” she mutters, but as her eyes slide closed and a smile falls upon her face, he knows she agrees - he can read those subtleties, gestures better than the ink letters he never came to understand. 

 

“Hope is all we have.”

 

Hedwyn stands, then, pushing himself off the blackwagon and taking a couple of quick steps forward. He turns to face Jodariel, his hair illuminated by starlight, the child of Gol.

 

“You’ve always had plenty of that,” the demon scoffs good-naturedly, remembering snippets of the past - of a Hedwyn who believed in being himself, following his soul, cutting his hair with cheap scissors and a belief in something more.

 

Hedwyn doesn’t answer, lets his feet drag through the dust, and finds himself acting all of a child as he spins under the night sky, letting the dust slip under his shoes, his cape billow like wings, and this is it, perhaps, maybe  _ this  _ is freedom, when his spirit soars and the stars shine down and show him favor. He basks in it, the heavens, reaches a hand up and feels it in his grasp.

 

“We’ll be free.”

 

It hangs in the air, a question, fragile as glass, and they both stay there in that silence for what seems to stretch into hours - Hedwyn feels hyper-aware, sensitive and attuned, some sense of belonging. This is not his home, this is not his home,  _ he is not held back. _

 

“You can’t stand out here brazenly forever,” Jodariel finally rasps, her eyes dark, freedom too far a dream for her tonight. 

 

So he does, climbs back into the wagon in a daze, and Jodariel puts an arm over his shoulders when she thinks he’s asleep. To protect his hope, to protect a dream.

 

(and that night, he dreams it - standing on a summit, clothed in white, exonerated, breathing the air of a deserter no longer. he feels light and fire and cleansing, a future, for himself.)


End file.
